


the space between

by MoveTheUniverse



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bisexual Cassian Andor, Bisexual Han Solo, Bisexual Leia Organa, Consensual, Deepthroating, F/M, Happy Ending, Hoth, M/M, Multi, Open Relationships, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Polyamory, Someone give this man a nap and a blowjob he DESERVES IT, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, established han/leia, everyone is just HAPPY for once, failed subtle seduction via caf, han solo makes cheesy jokes in bed its canon, leia also makes some goofy jokes, long suffering cassian andor, negotiated sex, really everyone is bi and happy and good in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-15 05:07:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17522483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoveTheUniverse/pseuds/MoveTheUniverse
Summary: On a cold afternoon at Echo Base, Han and Leia help the Rebellion's best spy warm up.Or, Cassian fails to be seduced by more subtle measures, so the Rebellion's least subtle couple gets creative.---Leia turns in the bed, and pushes herself up with one hand. Her waves of chestnut hair tumble over a bare chest, providing the most intimate modesty Cassian has ever seen. “Cassian. It’s you. Wanna get me that caf anyway?”





	the space between

Hoth is not exactly known as a luxurious planet rich in pleasure, or rich in anything except ice and snow and tauntaun dung. (Cassian is a little bit biased toward a different icy planet, one utterly devoid of the smelly, loud beasts) Plus, the Rebellion is in the middle of a war. There’s no time for comfort, even if there were any to be found on the freezing cold base they’ve made their command station.

Or, at least, Cassian is used to thinking along those lines. Thanks to Commander Organa taking a stand for something she calls “the mental health of soldiers,” he’s now supposed to take one day off every ten day cycle. As if he knows what to do with an off day. As if he can afford to take a day off. He’s tried to suggest that he could just give his days off to Bodhi or Jyn, or really anyone else (although those two certainly deserve them.) Commander Organa nixed the plan entirely.

Which means he spends his days off wandering through the base, aimless, and wishing he had a task. The one small pleasure he’s found is the caf station. It’s just a metal carafe, a heating unit, and various packets of flavors to add to the brownish water that passes for caf in the Rebellion. But the caf is warm, which is the part of the beverage that matters most on a place like Hoth.

And the company... isn’t half bad.

“Andor,” Han Solo approaches, greets him with a nod. After a few missions together, he and the former smuggler are not necessarily friends (that word is reserved for the others of Rogue One), but warm toward each other. Han, more so than Cassian. “Got some stew bubblin’ on the Falcon if you want to join me for dinner.”

“I have work, but, thank you.” Cassian eats his meals alone or with Kay, and always has. With the droid accompanying Jyn on her latest mission, though, Cassian has not only gotten used to eating alone, but slid into forgetting to eat on more than one occasion.

“You sure? It’s good stuff.”

“Positive.”

Cassian moves out of the way, letting Han begin his own routine of making caf. “You didn’t wanna guess today?” Han aks.

“After three losses in a row, I assumed I should surrender.”

“You’ll figure out my favorite flavor one of these days,” Han replies, dumping all manners of packets into his mug, before stirring vigorously.

“Perhaps.”

“Nah. You will.” Han claps a hand on his shoulder. “I believe in you.”

Then, he ambles off, down the snowy hall. Cassian finds that the place where Han’s hand rested remains warm long after he’s gone.

* * *

 

Cassian thinks that’s the warmest he’ll be until late one night, when he’s walking through the halls alone, trying to find rest, since he can’t find it lying still in his cot. He misses Kay, misses Jyn, misses all of the rogues he’s come to see as his friends. On Echo base, he’s more alone than he’s ever been, and colder too.

The doors of a hall swish closed behind him, and he keeps walking ahead. There’s two figures nearby, two other late night wanders, and he thinks, no, he knows, that its Captain Solo and Commander Organa. The two are talking closely, as they always do. For a moment, Cassian entertains the idea of asking them to have a cup of caf with him, or offering to cook them a meal. Anything to bring a little more warmth into his cold days off on this damn base. Anything to make him feel a little more like he belongs.

Because he’s not cleared for espionage missions anymore, not with the wounds from Scarif leaving him a little slower, a little more scarred. But he’s obviously still a damn good spy, because neither of them notice him.

Then again, that turns out to be a curse. Because the two are still talking, but now they’re touching too, Han’s hand roaming down the front of Leia’s vest, squeezing her breast, making her arch against him with a soft laugh.

He needs to leave.

Now.

No, five minutes ago. He should have left then.

Now… His gaze darts back at the doors behind him. What if it makes too much noise this time? What if they hear it and realize he’s watched so far. Better to stay here, in the shadows, then leave once they do. It’s a classic spy maneuver, just not one he’s ever had to complete with a half-hard erection rubbing uncomfortably against his trousers inside seam.

He shifts a little, trying to get comfortable against the wall. There’s one moment that his breath catches in his throat,because he’s sure Leia’s looked right at him.

But she must not have. It was a trick of the light, a moment’s fancy, because the next moment, Leia smiles. The sort of smile that he’s only ever imagined seeing on her face, on anyone’s face, the private, intimately hot sort of smile.

The one that makes him want to do anything to keep that smile on her face.

But it must have the same impact on Han, because now the smuggler’s hand moves down, tugs Leia’s waistband, and then, slides against her, offering exactly one thing to the Princess. Leia’s arms wrap around Han’s shoulders and she mutters something that sounds an awful lot like “useless moon-jockey.”

Whatever one of those is.

Han kisses her, his hand’s motions clear from the tight white fabric of her trousers. Leia’s moans begin to echo in the hallway. Now would be a good time to leave. Yet, Cassian watches, breathless, as Han’s hand works Leia. Her back arches, and Han kisses down her neck.

She’s…

Fuck.

He really should not be here. He should not be watching his commanding officer come, which is exactly what she’s doing, whimpering and shaking in Han’s arms.

Maybe he can pass through in a moment. Maybe they’ll stop.

No.

Nonono, because now Leia’s dropping to her knees, and…

Cassian squeezes his eyes shut, but the moment Han’s cock slides into Leia’s waiting mouth is one he’s not soon to forget. Neither is the moan Han makes, echoing all the way down Cassian’s spine. More vivid than either of those, though, is his spy's perfect recall, absolute surety, that, while Leia was tugging Han's cock from his trousers, Han had looked directly at Cassian and  _winked._ Cassian's not sure who he’s more jealous of in that moment, Han, for whose giving him head, or Leia, for being able to coax those noises out of that damn smug man.

* * *

 

Both are equally foolish thoughts, and Cassian curses the stupid spare time he has now, because clearly that’s why he’s stuck daydreaming about the moment, long after he sneaks away from that empty hallway.

He still sees Han at the caf station most mornings, and manages, with all the training of a spy, to keep his cool each time. Han makes his usual joke about his favorite flavor, and most days, Cassian doesn’t even try to guess it, though he does rule out BanthaBerry and Chandrillian Rose. Which is good, because those might be two of the worst caf flavors Cassian has ever heard of.

Time passes, eventful only in the way war is eventful, with no more accidental run-ins between him and the lovers. That is, until one early day when the Correllian shows up with a large wooden crate in his hands. It’s enough to make Cassian think of the muscles underneath that coat, which is enough to make him blush. That leads to adding far too much creamer to his caf, rendering it almost undrinkable.

Han sets the box down and nods. Cassian tilts his head. “Supplies are to be sent to Commander Organa’s wing.”

“Good thing it’s not supplies then. C’mon, open it!” Han rubs his hands together. He needs better gloves. Why hadn’t he been wearing his standard issue ones? Knowing Han, he’s lost them.

“What is it?” he examines the sides of the small box. It’s too light for ammo, too heavy for a data chip. He can’t think of anything else that someone would want to give him.

“Won’t know unless you open it.” Han salutes him in that way that somehow turns a simple hand gesture into a drawling expression, as sardonic as the rest of Han’s movements.

He waits until Han is gone, and then a good while longer. Finally, the curiosity gets the better of him, and he tugs the crate open. It’s caf pods. Really, really nice ones.

Cassian’s first thought is that they’re stolen. Then he sees the receipt in Leia’s careful hand. Well. That’s… something. Her handwriting leads to the thought of hands, which makes him remember… Cassian coughs, pretending it’s just the caf leaving him red-faced.

Cassian hides the receipt and then donates the caf to the ground troops, figuring they need it more than him. He’s done the same thing with a few other assorted little gifts that have appeared in the last few months. Assuming the gifts were pity-presents from people who still felt bad about the poor wounded officer who risked his life to bring the plans to them.

The caf pods are very appreciated. Kes even tackle-hugs Cassian, and spins him around, very grateful for “something that tastes better an’ warmer than tauntaun crap.”

Cassian just shakes his head fondly at his friend. “Enjoy them.”

“You don’t want any?”

Cassian shakes his head. He’s not allowed to want things. Not when so much of his life is spent taking things from people. Then again, he took the damn caf. He should have refused the gift entirely.

He also shouldn’t have been in that hallway.

Or ever think of that hallway again, especially not when he’s got a moment’s peace in the ‘fresher or in bed or…

Each time the memory crosses his mind, the desire does too, but every time, he clenches his fists, denies himself the relief. It’s wrong to think of his comrades like that, wrong to imagine, well… depending on the day, either being the one getting or giving head, depending.

Even if he can’t shake… can’t quite shake the sense that they knew. That they’d seen him, that they'd wanted him to see. But that was just ridiculous. No one wanted Captain Cassian Andor to see them in a moment of intimacy. Not when he was… who he was. Some exhausted, scarred spy, not fit for any sort of relationship, not even the sort that only lasted one night.

 

The guilt wells inside him for days, and he makes plans to fix it on his first off day. There’s a little prep work to do, items to purchase, and then, all he has to do is make sure that Han is busy at the Caf Station early in the morning on Cassian’s day off.

“Added some new flavors,” Cassian says as he walks by it, his gaze barely flicking in Han’s direction.

“Bet you didn’t find my favorite,” Han retorts, that cocky smile, the one that right now, Cassian catches himself thinking of kissing until it melts into something a little softer, a little more compliant, a little… Well. A smile a little more ready to taste something other than caf.

It’s the exact sort of thought Cassian _really_ shouldn’t be having, and yet, that’s all he can think of. He manages, maybe, some sort of retort to Han’s comment, then hurries off, down the halls to the room he knows is Han’s.

* * *

 

The door to the room is open. Since Han hasn’t followed him, and one else, except perhaps the wookie, would have access to the room, Cassian enters. It's a simple room, bigger than his own, with crates of gear, a vast, unmade bed, and a few other pieces of made-from-scrap furniture. He leaves the new gloves for Han on the top of his nightstand. just as he's about to leave , the blankets stir. Cassian’s throat goes dry. How had he not noticed? He’s a spy. He should be better than this.

He should have.

But he didn't.

And now, he's caught, just like that night in the hall, caught watching, caught craving something he shouldn't.

Something far more decadent than a cup of caf.

His earlier thought that there were no luxuries on Hoth was utterly wrong. Because the smooth bare skin revealed by that shift of blanket is beyond luxurious, as tempting as sin. His hands curl into fists, fighting the urge to reach out. Leia (because that’s who it must be), stirs.

Cassian is still frozen, still watching her.

She murmurs, “han? Caf please?”

“Uh. Prin-Commander. I am… sorry. Sorry. Very, uh. I am…” his words start to crumble and it’s all he can do to not put his face in his hands and hide.

Leia turns in the bed, and pushes herself up with one hand. Her waves of chestnut hair tumble over a bare chest, providing the most intimate modesty Cassian has ever seen. There’s a small flash of pink nipple as she lifts her head. “Oh. Cassian. It’s you. Wanna get me that caf anyway?”

He has three options.

  1. Die
  2. Run away from her like the terrified man he is
  3. Do as she asks, pretending everything is normal.



The last option seems the most beneficial to the Rebellion, so he turns, walks to the simple personal machinepasses her the cup. She hasn’t put a shirt on. Why the kriffing hell hasn’t she put a shirt on? Instead, Leia sips the caf in a way that highlights her pink lips, her wide eyes. Lips that would look very good wrapped around something else. Something… something that he certainly shouldn’t be thinking of, in connection with Leia, with his commander, with the kriffing former princess of Alderaan.

Then, Leia finishes her sip and lets out an absolutely decadent moan. “You make the best caf.”

It’s harder than ever to swallow. A thought that… no. he really, really, shouldn’t be thinking about swallowing. Or anything hard. Even if something is, well. That.

“I should go,” he mumbles. “Do you want to?”

“I… uh.” He wants to crawl onto that bed and ravish his commanding officer which is probably the worst idea he’s had since the day he tried to rewire an Imperial droid. “Work. Gotta get some work done.” Work that, if he’s honest with himself, is going to involve some privacy, his hand, and his imagination.

“Isn’t it your day off?”

“It is.” There. That’s a fact. He’s managed to state something factual without stammering. An improvement.

“Mine too,” Leia smiles. “Lucky us.” She sets the mug down, and then, casually, brushes the wave of chestnut hair over her shoulder, a casual gesture that would otherwise escape notice, had it not revealed an entire breast in the process. Pert, with a pink nipple already hard from the chill in the air.

Cassian coughs, and looks away.

 

“Oh?” Leia asks. “Something wrong?”

There’s such a teasing smile in her voice that it suddenly dawns on him that she.. That she knows she’s naked, and knows the effect it’s having on him. “I didn’t realize,” he begins.

“Yes, I’m starting to see just how apparent that is,” Leia retorts, with that same lofty Core-centric accent that comes out most in the briefing room… and in his dreams.

“I…”

“Do you want caf, Cassian?” Leia asks, and the non sequitur makes him narrow his eyes in confusion, until she crooks her finger at him. “Or something with a bit richer of a taste.”

Clarity. He’d wanted clarity. Even to him, that metaphor is clear enough to tell him what Leia wants. What she’s offering. Maybe that’s all she’s offering, for him to pleasure her, and then, leave. Honestly, Cassian doesn’t think that’s the worst-sounding afternoon in the galaxy, and for him, might number among the best.

“I could… have a little taste, I suppose,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant.

She’s so close to him, it’s so easy to kneel next to the bed, to slide his hands over her hips, tugging her toward him. Shyly, he presses one kiss below her navel. He’s aware of the rest of her body, painfully aware, but she’d offered him a taste and he figures…

“Cassian?” her accent slides away into the more casual tone he usually hears from her. “Not that I’m complaining, but would you like to kiss me first?”

“Oh.” He feels his ears burn. “Um. Yes? I didn’t… I did not realize that was an option.”

Leia laughs, a sound like the sunlight glinting off fresh-fallen snow. She puts her finger under his chin, tilting him up, until he’s level with her face. “Everything’s an option on your day off, isn’t it?”

Cassian holds his breath, because he’s never wanted anything quite as much as what he thinks is coming next. Leia’s eyes are bright, and he feels himself falling into them, captured completely in her obit.

She closes the distance, and kisses him. He responds instantly, his hand tangling in her hair, keeping her close, feeling the warm press of her body against his. The kiss is soft and sweet, though he feels Leia’s tongue flick over his lips, offering more.Slowly, he deepens the kiss. His heart thuds so hard she must be able to hear it, even muffled under all the layers of his clothes.

Right. He’s got on five layers and Leia is naked. He should probably…

And then Leia moves to nip down his neck and he finds he can’t make any words at all. His hand travels down her bare back, marveling at all her smooth skin.

Finally, Leia pulls back, her cheeks bright pink. “Enjoying yourself?”

“Very.”

She presses another kiss to his lips, and this one is so warm, so familiar, it makes a tiny moan escape him. He catches her, holds her there for another, longer one. Deeper now that he’s growing comfortable with the concept. One of his hands finds her breast, cups it softly, stroking the silk-soft skin with his fingers. Now, she’s the one whimpering against his lips, her nails grappling for purchase on the sleeve of his parka. The parka that really, probably, should come off soon. Maybe now? It doesn’t seem like Leia’s going to melt away into mist if they take a brief pause. He tries to tug off the closures one handed, but finds that, although he’s quite capable of being ambidextrous in other, less stressful situation, like re-wiring a live bomb, today he can’t get his left hand to even get one toggle open. Finally, with a frustrated little exhale, he sits back to undo the closures.

While he does so, Leia reaches over for her cup of caf, and takes another sip. “Weren’t you about to do something else, Cassian?”

He swallows.

Somehow, he has the presence of mind to take off his boots.

 

“What about Han?” he asks, shucking the damn parka finally, not cold at all now. He’s not one to cut into a relationship.

“Oh, he’ll be along shortly.” Leia’s hand slides over his chest, then under his sweater so her hand warm against his thin shirt. He’s definitely wearing too many layers still, but he’s not exactly sure how to be both naked and turned on at the same time. Not when Leia is so beautiful, so free from scars, and he bears all the marks of the life he’s lived on his body, “It’s his day off too.”

Just when he thought he couldn’t get any more warm, somehow, that sent absolute flames down his back. “So he wants…”

“Very much.” Leia smiles. “Which is why I fully intend to have you first.” Her hand cups between his legs, her thumb stroking the erection trapped under his trousers. “At least, a taste of you. I won’t leave Han out... too much.” She winks at Cassian.

The expression spurs him into action, and he leans forward, sinking his hand into the waterfall of long hair, pulling her to him so he could kiss her. Hard.

“I’m no expert,” he admits, “but I don’t think you’re playing fair, princess.”

Leia’s lips tug on his bottom lip, and then, as she stops the kiss to speak, she squeezes his cock gently, pressing the fabric against his tender skin. He moans, not even able to hide an ounce of his desire at this point. “I don’t play fair, Cassian Andor,” Leia replies. She nips down his neck, while her her hand massages him, in an utterly beautify mix of gentle and brutal. “I play to win.”

Cassian remains motionless for a moment, letting her work him, letting the intensity of the touch coupled with the pressure of remaining trapped under his trousers send shivers down his spine. “So you do.”

Just when he thinks he can’t take any more, he feels the pressure of his belt buckle being released, and then, his trouser fly opening, and suddenly, his cock is out. And Leia is stroking it. Tugging on it, flicking her thumb wickledly over the precome at the tip. He whimpers, tries to bite his lip and hold the sound in.

“Eager, aren’t you,” Leia muses, her fingers traveling over him, exploring him. “And, my, my, you're very nice indeed.”

“Thank you,” he says, because it seems like the appropriate response to a compliment for his cock. He can't exactly say he's never had any compliants, not when anyone's ever gotten so  _personal_ with him. Leia's hand is warm, soft, skilled. If he'd thought he was hard before, now, he's aching.  “Are you… is there something you want?”

“Oh there’s many things I want.” She takes her hand away, and licks off the smallest drop of his desire from her thumb. “But I think you agreed to have a taste, didn't you?”

“I believe you had the first taste,” he responds, finding his bearings by using breathing exercises he’d learned to resist torture. Which this is, in a most pleasurable way.

Leia’s grin is as bright as it is dangerous. “I always come first.” Then, she leans forward, faster than he’d expected her to move in such a situation, and tugs him down. He manages to plant a hand on the bed next to her just in time to keep himself from falling on top of her. But the move also pulls the blanket away. So he can see that she’s not naked, not like he’d expected, but instead, wearing some sort of lace contraption, all ribbons and silk and rich with the scent of her desire.

Kriffing hell.

She’s that wet.

For him.

He licks his lips, and, while she watches, kisses down her body. He knows he bypassed her breasts, knows he probably should have lingered on them, but… but he’s trying to formulate a plan for just how to undo that lace that she’s wearing without ripping it.

“Going right for the prize, aren’t you?” Leia’s fingernails rake gently over his scalp, and she gives his hair a little tug, which makes his whole body shiver.

“I prefer direct action.”

“I can see that.”

Because finally, he’s reached her core. He’s kneeling between her legs, and she’s right there, and he wants nothing more than to rip that fabric away. But that seems far too rash a thing to do. Beside, the lace looks very expensive.

She is his commanding officer, after all. She could dock his pay for garment damage.

So, instead, he bends closer, and licks over the fabric. It’s thin enough he can feel every bit of her beneath it, her lips, her clit… all of her. Leia sighs, her grip in his hair tightening, so he does it again, this time pressing hard against the hollow of her entrance.

“Cassian…”

He’d never heard his name said in quite such a decadent way. He presses the fabric over her clit, rubbing it with a careful maneuver that has her whining above him. Meanwhile, his fingers have been exploring the various tiny buckles keeping the garment on her. Only when he’s sure he’s figured it out does he lift his head to smile wolfishly up at Leia, whose face is utterly flushed with pleasure.

He’s heard a good number of soldiers describe the princess as made of ice. They’re entirely wrong. She’s made of light when she smiles, she’s as gentle as as sunlight in her touches, she’s all things bright and warm and good. It’s just that, like the sun itself, to get too close to her heat is to burn.

And Cassian knows now he’s on fire for her.

He burns as his fingers undo the buckles, burns as he finally puts lips to her tender core, with no fabric between him and his prize at last, burns as he drinks her in.

He burns with the heat of all the suns in all the galaxy, burns hotter and brighter than he thought he ever could as he explores her, running his tongue over her labia, pressing in deeper, sucking harder.

Until, at last, when she shatters, her hips bucking hard, he melts.

It’s not a physical release for Cassian, this pleasure he feels. He’s still achingly stiff, pressing hard against the seams of his trousers, but he can ignore that. Instead, he focuses on the bliss he feels watching all the tension unspool from Leia’s body. His work turns to long, languid caresses, worshiping her with his mouth, his tongue gentle over her vulva, careful around her now-incredibly-tender clit. His goal is only encouraging the ripples of pleasure shuddering through her, to build on her orgasm and make it last. He never wants this moment to end. She’s whispering his name like he’s a blessing, like he’s good, and it’s all he could ever want.

Granted, he’d thought that about kissing her, too. Turns out that craving Leia is a hunger never sated.

* * *

 

Eventually, her hand moves to his shoulder, and coaxes him back up to her. He licks his lips, despite the blush burning on his face. Leia kisses him. “That was lovely,” she says. “I always thought you’d have a talented mouth.” She runs a finger over his lips. “If a bit of a fuzzy one.”

“It wasn’t… too much, was it?” he asks hoarsely. Honestly, if Leia says it was, at this moment, he’d gladly leap into the nearest fresher and shave, his own pride in his facial hair be damned.

Leia just smiles, and kisses him again. “I like it. Beside, it looks nice on you… and as enjoyable as a sight you are between my legs, I suppose I do have to see you in a more professional manner, most days.”

“Most days,” he echoes. Wondering if she means… if she means there will be other days like this one. Really, the fact this day is even going like this is beyond baffling. Because all he’d wanted to do was drop off those gloves for Han, not this.

Not that he’s complaining.

He moves a little, finally letting himself kiss her breast. His gaze flicks up at her, as he sucks on her nipple, gently.

“You know…” her fingers brush his hair out of his eyes. “The thing I liked most about that beard, Cassian?” She bends over to whisper, “I like a little roughness with my pleasure.”

Though his heart races, he takes note of the request, and teases her with his teeth. The reward is well worth it, as for the first time, he hears Leia curse.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck, that’s good.”

He turns, does the same to the other breast. Leia puts her hand on his shoulder, and pushes him over, flat onto his back. “Your turn.”

With his trousers still on, there’s not much skin for Leia to explore, but she does her best, licking around his base, her warm breath such a tease. Then, her mouth finds his tip. Cassian jerks, hard, glad he’s horizontal or he would have fallen over.

“Oh, you want this, don’t you,” Leia purrs.

“Desperately.” He’s not one to admit when he wants something, but the way that Leia is now licking him from base to tip is more than enough to coax honesty from him. It’s been a year, at least. “Please.”

“Mm,” she only says, before holding him with one hand, and bending her head over him. A moment later, all he can see are stars as her warm mouth takes him in. Her hand, coupled with the sucking she’s doing, is quickly destroying him, leaving him gasping in moments.

Her head bobs in time with her hand’s tugs, her cheeks hollowed to keep giving him all that incredible suction. And her tongue. Her blessed, damned, tongue, pressing hard against his tip, keeping him right on the edge.

“Leia, Leia,” he’s gasping now, because he’s close, so damn close. “A moment. Shit. Please. Please.”

She pulls back, moves away from his hips. Her face is so gentle, with none of the minx-like charm from early. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” He sits up awkwardly, all too painfully aware of his erection, which is stiff and waiting for just a little more attention. “I was about to come.”

“And you don’t want to?” She tucks a lock of his hair behind his ear. “Was it too much?”

Kriff. She’s undoing him in an altogether different way now with this tenderness. He’s not used to concern. Not the way Leia offers it, with respect and gentleness. Cassian takes one breath, and then another. “Not this soon.”

“Ah.” She kisses his cheek.

“I don’t know if I… if I’d be ready again soon,” he admits. Because refractory periods are a sad fact of life, and he’s all too aware of that fact right now. “And you mentioned that…” he swallows, “well, that we would be expecting company.” He tries to phrase it as best as he can. “And if I… when I… I… I usually fall asleep pretty quickly.”

“Cassian,” Leia asks, and there’s no sharpness in her voice at all. “When was the last time you had a good night’s sleep?”

He slumps, his head against her shoulder. “You don’t want to know the answer to that.”

Her arm wraps around his shoulders, keeping him close. The scent of her, some floral thing mixed with standard issue military soap and her own desire, is enough to keep him grounded in the moment. Leia asks, “and would I be correct in assuming it’s been a while since you’ve orgasmed as well?”

“When you put it that way…” his voice is a low grumble. “Got off?” Leia’s tone turns teasing, and her teeth find his earlobe. “Rubbed one out? Jacked off? I can keep going, captain, if you’d--”

He groans, hot and deep, kisses her shoulder.

“I…” Leia begins, pauses, strokes down his length with the most feather-light touch. “Do you like being called that? Captain?”

He nods, his face still in the crook of her neck.

“Well, captain, I’ve taken what you said under advisement, and I’ll be very, very, diligent to make sure you don’t come until I want you to. How’s that?”

Her hand had tugged for punctuation of each use of very, pulling away his ability to formulate any sort of words, so he just nods. Trusting her. Surrendering his bliss to whatever time she deems the most suitable.

“Now, where were we?”

He’s kneeling on the bed, and Leia simply adjusts her position, dropping down to return to her work. There’s something altogether ethereal about her, about the way her dark hair cascades down her back, hiding so much of her creamy skin from him. Gently, he runs his fingers through it, dares to loop it around his hand, using it to gently control her, to make her rhythm on him be exactly what he wants. Her gaze lifts, and she lets him see the way the fire in her eyes only burns brighter as she takes him deeper, deeper.

Tears like starlight glitter in the corner of her eyes, and he uses his free hand to brush them away. “Beautiful,” he whispers.

There’s the smallest quirk of her lips, as if she’s smiling as much as she can when she’s deepthroating him, and as if she already knows she is.

Of course she knows it.

There’s a sudden beep, cutting into the human noises of moans and whimpers and kisses that had been the only soundtrack so far. Cassian freezes.

Leia lets him pull out of her mouth, but eases the end of her work with kisses down his length. His hand is still tangled in her hair, and she shows no indication of moving from where she’s lying beneath him, as the door opens.

* * *

 

Han walks in. He’s got a bounce to his step that, coupled with Leia’s promise this was both planned and mutually desire, calm any of Cassian’s fears. However, the noise little slurp Leia made as she pulls Cassian back into her mouth threatens to upstage that calmness.

Han strides to the side of the bed, and looks down at them. Kriff, he’s tall. Really fucking tall. And strong. And handsome. And… blushing? Is Captain Han Solo, notorious smuggler, really blushing?

Han rubs the back of his neck. “Well, I’ll tell you one thing, this is really something.”

“Uh.” Cassian agrees, in the only way that seems proper when Han’s lover has him deep in her mouth. “So it is.”

“You havin’ a good time?”

“Oh, _honestly.”_ Leia pulls back, to speak and to roll her eyes. “That’s the best line you could think of, really? You are such a moon-dusted mynock-tamer!’

Cassian is suddenly caught between feeling a little sad that he’s not getting the best head of his life and utterly delighted at Leia’s ridiculous words. But one thing is for sure. He is absolutely having a good time. The best, even. “Princess, a question, if I might?”

“Yes?” she looks up at him.

The sight is a little too tempting, with her eyes so wide, and her lips so soft from her work, so he traces over them with his thumb, while he asks, “What exactly does a mynock tamer do? As a career? Once he’s tamed the mynocks?”

Han lets out a rumble of laughter, and leans forward. Puts one hand on Cassian’s shoulder, the way he always does when they’re about to part after talking over caf, only this time, there’s no parting. None at all. Instead, Han kisses him. His lips are more demanding, his skin rougher, with the scrape of a bit of stubble brushing over Cassian’s palm as he moves to cup Han’s cheek, to hold him there.

It reminds him that Leia had said she’d liked the brush of it. It makes him wonder if Han does too, if Han even notices it, given how wild his kisses are right now. More than one of them has caught a fair amount of stubble instead of Cassian’s lips. If han has this much enthusiasm now, what would be be like, if he was the one giving head? “Hey, Cass?” Han asks, pressing a softer kiss to his neck. “You all right?”

“I was thinking about stubble,” he admits.

“At least we’ve moved on from mynocks,” Leia replies. She’s now leaning back on the bed, hands behind her head, clearly having enjoyed the view.

“Yeah, well, _I’m_ not the one who dragged those things into the bed. Metaphorically, or whatever,” Han retorts.

“Six syllable word? I’m impressed, Han.” Leia says.

“Wait.” Cassian blinks at the two of them, still baffled, still turned on, which might be more baffling. Given how long he’s been kneeling at the foot of the bed, his cock out, his mind utterly confused, he’s amazed he’s still got enough blood flow to think. “You two… do have sex? Yes?”

“Sometimes,” Leia replies, her smile growing. “When this laserbrain remembers to come to bed.”

“Laserbrain?” Han taps his chest. “Tactical genius, you mean. That’s what I got called in my last report.”

Cassian raises an eyebrow. “And who wrote that report?”

“Wedge,” Han admits. “But even if it he wasn’t my buddy, I bet he would have said it. C’mon, Cass, back me up here.”

It’s strange how that nickname makes him blush in the same way the first kisses had, that verbal intimacy just as pleasant as the physical. He hopes, which he thinks might be a foolish hope, that the nickname, at least, will last beyond this bedroom, this moment, even if nothing else does. “Maybe you should show off your tactics to Leia.” Remembering that they both want him, as impossible as that seems, he adds, “or maybe it’s two-person tactical maneuver.”

Han kisses him again, fast, with a smile curving his lips. “Genius.”

The two are both kneeling at the foot of the bed, while Leia is still sprawled out by the headboard, watching them while one of her hands makes lazy motions over her nipple. Cassian does his best to not be distracted by that while Han whispers his plan in Cassian’s ear. It’s so clear how much he adores Leia, how much he worships her body, her mind, all of her, that Cassian finds himself smiling, touched, as much as turned on. Han makes plans to provide pleasure for Leia with more diligence than he's ever shown in military operations. It’s endearing, to be sure, but by the end, Cassian wonder if maybe he shouldn’t be here after all.

“Got all that?” Han asks him.

Cassian nods, curtly.

“Good. You first though.”

Han’s words take him by surprise. He’d thought the plan was for them to crawl over to Leia, to pleasure her, before… but that plan flies out of his mind as soon as Han grips him by his hip. And then, Han is kissing him hard, his hand going down to Cassian’s nearly forgotten erection, and stroking over it. “Sorry, shoulda started with this, yeah?”

“I, uh…”

“I mean, I was planning on jerking off while you went down on Leia, but…” Han smiles that million-credit smile that always seems to get him out of whatever trouble he’s found. “You’re a little too tempting.”

The gaze lingers on Cassian, travels over his body, down to his still erect, albeit slightly ignored, cock. Han licks his lips, before that smile reappears, as he strokes Cassian, his palm rough but so warm. Almost without thought, Cassian’s lower body rolls forward, thrusting into Han’s hand, seeking more pressure, which Han is quick to give him. It’s quite a different sensation than Leia’s mouth has been, and the brilliant contrast between them, between the gentle warmth and this demanding urgency is enough to make him gasp with unexpected delight. Han kisses him, then, while his hand keeps at the very enjoyable task.

Suddenly, Cassian realizes _he’s_ the trouble that Han’s found.

It’s enough to make him match that intensity, for his hand to slide down Han’s shirt, and then, under, finding his warm skin. Han’s not as thin as Cassian, his hip bones not as sharp a curve as Cassian’s own, but they still lead his wandering fingers down to his target. He slides his flat palm under the waistband, and finds that Han is already quite hard.

“Told you,” Han says with a smirk. “Tempting.”

“You certainly are,” Cassian murmurs, a little more confident with this task. Feeling his way down Han’s admittedly impressive length, to his sensitive tip, and pressing there with one finger. Han bucks hard against him.

“You two,” Leia says, “are both very lovely and very frustrating. The least you could do is take each other’s clothes off while you’re at it.”

The two men exchange a look. Han says, “count of ten, we yank our shirts--”

“Han!” Leia shakes her head. “Take _each other’s_ clothes off.”

“I mean, babe, I think the end result is--”

She folds her arms, which has the unfortunate side effect of hiding her incredible nipples from view. Then, she speaks very slowly, as if Han is a particularly stubborn astromech droid, intent on fixing the wrong ship. “It. is. Sexier. My. way.”

Han runs a hand through his already tousled hair and shrugs. Turns back to Cassian. “Princesses,” he says with a long-suffering sigh, as if he’s known hundreds of them. “Always sure their way is--”

His comment is cut off by a pillow lobbed at his head.

“How’s this?’ Cassian askes, already going to work undoing Han’s belt. He notices Han’s not wearing his usual holster, which gives greater evidence to the idea this whole thing is planned. “We take each other’s clothes, off, yes, and then we,” he looks up at Han with pure mischief in his eyes. “We pounce.”

“Pounce. That’s a good word.” Han pulls off Cassian’s heavier sweater, leaving him in just his standard-issue white shirt. Then, his hands slide under it, and Cassian freezes. It’s too late. Han’s already found at least some of what’s always kept him from other lovers before, the scars and old wounds from a life lived in complete dedication to the Rebellion.

But Han doesn’t shy away from the ropy raised mark, one left by a particularly nasty run in with some imperials on Kuat.

“Hey,” Han says, and there’s a tenderness in his voice that astonishes Cassian. “We’ve all got our scars, yeah? Relax. You’re safe here.”

Cassian nods. Pushes off Han’s vest, and then, plays with the edge of Han’s own shirt. “May I?”

“Yeah,” Han nods.

* * *

 

A moment later, they’re both bare-chested, and performing the far more awkward work of tugging off trousers. Han’s grumbling to Leia that really, this part isn’t sexy at all, and he’s not a damn dancer on Nar Shadaa, and what does she expect, and the whole exchange is full of so much warmth that Cassian forgets to be afraid entirely.

“Right,” Han says. Kisses him swiftly. “Think you said something ‘bout pouncing?”

Han rests next to Leia, on the side of the bed closest to the floor, and skims one hand all the way down her body, his fingers light against her core. He rests his head on his other hand, propping himself up, his eyes only for her. “Seems like you’ve had a good afternoon, babe.” He kisses her nose.

It’s amazing to see how gentle he is, how much of his space, his confidence, he surrenders to Leia when they’re in bed together. It’s nothing as simple as submission nor a powerplay, as enjoyable as Leia clearly finds those things, Cassian thinks, but rather Han acknowledging all he has that Leia doesn’t, from height to experience, to freedom. Because out of the three of them, Han is the only one the Rebellion doesn’t hold completely in his grasp.

He could leave at any time.

Now, Cassian sees the gravity keeping him here.

And again, he hesitates. It’s one thing to know that he too is orbiting this sun, maybe even orbiting Han as well, a satellite spinning around a planet on a long, slow, inevitable fall into the sun’s inferno, but another to ask to be pulled closer.

“Cass?” If he’d thought the nickname sounded nice on Han’s lips, it’s divine on Leia’s. “Still doing all right?”

He’s not a man prone to honesty, not in general. He’s a spy. But he is always honest to his commander, tries to be honest to his fellow soldiers. So, he manages to say, “I’m a little overwhelmed.”

Leia’s hand travels down his arm,until her fingers encircle his wrist. “Come, lay here.” she says. “If you’d like.”

Cassian very much would like to, and settles in on her other side. The bed is far, far softer than his own cot. And even counting the one Leia had thrown, there’s still easily five more pillows resting around her, a decadence he can’t even begin to imagine. “Do you sleep with all of this?”

“With this oaf?” Leia pats Han’s fuzzy chest. “Sometimes.”

Han shoots her a look, but kisses her shoulder. “Pretty sure you’ve said just how warm this old oaf happens to be in your bed.”

“And loud. And prone to snoring. And pillow-stealing.” But Han kisses her once for each of her complaints, leaving them both smiling.

Cassian curses himself for asking about something as stupid as a pillow.

But Leia must see it on his face, because her hand now goes to his cheek. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to leave you out.”

“No, it’s fine. Truly,” he says softly. “I am glad you have each other.”

“You have us too, nerf-herder. ” Leia shakes her head. “Who do you think kept trying to send you new gear and rations.”

“I didn’t need them!”

“Did you want them?” Leia asks.

Cassian pinches his lips together, refusing to answer.

Leia shifts just a little, to reach up and kiss his forehead. “Captain, you’re allowed to want things.”

It’s a little easier when she calls him by rank. He knows how to be captain to her commander much better than he knows how to be a lover. “I… I want you then. Both of you. I just am trying to understand why you’d want me.” Now it’s his turn to gesture at himself. Han’s built more than a little like his precious Falcon. Rough around the edges, a little unconventional, but still, impressive in terms of size, power, ability. His muscles ripple with every movement, and there’s absolutely no shame in the way he longues comfortably next to Leia, completely naked, completely hard for her.

Meanwhile, Cassian knows he’s… he’s any one of the Rebellion battered old ships, outmatched for speed and luck by the Falcon every time. He’s been patched together more times than he can count, sometimes by field medics with no access to bacta, and sometimes by K-2S0, because there was no one else. There’s nothing about him that isn’t scarred and broken, not even the heart that still beats fast within him.

“Leia’s had a crush on you for ages,” Han shrugs.

“Han!” Leia smacks his shoulder.

“It’s true! An’ when I met you here, well, I ain’t blind either. You’re a handsome man, capable pilot, smart as all hells…”

Cassian thought he might never blush worse than he did at the start of this adventure. Then, when Han’s gaze travels down over Cassian’s body, and he has to pause to lick his lips before saying, “and that equipment you’re packing don’t seem half bad either.”

“Oh, Han,” Leia rolls her eyes. “He means well.”

The phrase that he’s so used to saying for a very different being, finally makes Cassian smile, just for a moment. Leia darts in, seizing the opportunity to kiss him, holding him close. For the first time, his cock brushes over her bare thigh. He’s so close, so far, from so much more than he’d ever dreamed of.

“I care very much about you, Cassian,” Leia says, softly. “All jokes aside, I, no, we, we want this to be good for you.”

“For us all,” Han says. “You’re part of that.”

“Part of what?”

“The we,” Han says. “You’re in this with us, now, alright? You’re here. I’m here. Leia’s here. Let’s fuck.”

“Han!” And this time, it’s both Leia and Cassian saying it at the same time, both of them half-amused, half exasperated. Which, Cassian realizes, is the most common emotion that can possibly be had around Han. Well, that and a desire to kiss the idiot, but that might be a related emotion.

“Oh come on, that’s what we’re doin’ ain’t it? It’s not like three beings just lay around naked as a porg just to play a game of Dejarik on a nice afternoon like this one.” Han’s arm reaches out, to ruffle Cassian’s hair. “Yeah? Let’s do this. We have a plan.”

“We did have a plan,” Cassian finds his smile reappearing, matched by Han’s.

“I _had_ a plan,” Leia flops back between them melodramatically, “but no, you two Luggabeast-lifters had to--”

“She really does make those up,” Cassian comments, bushing his hair out of his eyes. It’s more mussed than it’s ever been, and given his own nervous habit to re-comb it, that’s truly impressive.

“Absolutely,” Han retorts. “C’mon. Mission formation.”

* * *

 

The two men, still smiling, move to kiss her. Cassian first, feeling the quirk of Leia’s smile against his lips, then, after he pulls away to kiss down the curve of her neck, Han swoops in, claiming her lips. The two men work in harmony, and Cassian’s delighted to find that not only is Leia still warm, her nipples still hard, she’s… she’s laughing. Cheering them on, playfully arguing that no, her insults are completely normal and she used them all the time at school.

“Yeah, well, Cass and me are just under-educated I guess,” Han retorts, before taking her breast into his mouth. It’s a glorious sight, one that Cassian enjoys as he lowers his own head to complete the same on the other breast.

“That’s bantha fodder,” Leia says, or tries to say, between her sighs. “You two are… ah… very… ah… smart… and…”

Han’s hand finds Cassian’s, his fingers tangling around his. There's a strangely beautiful moment, where all Cassian is aware of is the feeling of another hand in his. Everything else, Leia’s incredible body, his own throbbing erection, all that disappears, and all Cassian knows is he is safe, and he is wanted.

Following Han’s mission plan is easy after that. Together, they move hands down to Leia’s core, to stroke and tease. Han pinches her clit in a way Cassian would never dare to, though the resulting shriek of delight is all the encouragement he needs to be a little braver himself. He slides two fingers into her, curves them to tap hard against the tender spongy area inside. Leia’s hips rock harder with each thrust of his wrist.

Then, he feels Han’s lips on his shoulder, his neck. There’s the faintest brush of teeth, the sweetest burn of a bite, and sometime around the same time as Leia orgasms, soaking his hand, Cassian cries out, louder than he ever has in bliss. “Oh, fuck.”

“That’s right.” Han’s hand that had been on Leia’s clit, moves to Cassian’s wrist. “Stay inside her. Just like that.”

Cassian obeys, enjoys how he has no choice not to, not with the pressure of Han’s hand on his wrist, and the bright sharpness of Han’s biting kisses. The moments stretch out, like stars in hyperspace, and Cassian is breathless as the lovers move around him.

Eventually, after Leia has cried out every obscenity Galactic Basic has to offer, Han frees Cassian’s hand, but only so much as to tug Cassian upward, to press Cassian’s fingers against Leia’s hungry mouth. And then, the two roll Cassian onto his back, and suddenly it’s his turn to have two mouths, two sets of hands on him. His gasps are breathless, nearly silent, as his lovers nip and lick down his body, circling closer and closer, but never quite reaching his cock. It’s agonizing and it’s delightful. Cassian rests one hand on Han’s broad shoulders, the other on the curve of Leia’s hips. Whispers sweet soft foolish things to them.

Finally, he admits, “I want more.”

There’s a brief shuffle of positions, the blankets tangling around them like snowdrifts, until finally, he’s on his side, facing Leia. Han slipped out of bed to get something he called _helpful,_ and Cassian blushes knowing what it probably is. The three had a quick discussion, assuring each other other necessary things were all in order, including Leia’s contraceptive implant. Han teased them both about how matter-of-fact they were. Cassian’s retort was to leave a hickey on his neck, dark enough that Han would have to wear a scarf tomorrow.

But all teasing fades away now, as Cassian looks into Leia’s eyes. Her hand is curled possessively around his hip, her lips so soft from all their kissing. “You’re sure?” he asks.

She nods, and moves, just a little, hooking her leg over his, allowing him to move closer, closer, so close there’s something like static that overtakes his thoughts and drowns out everything but her.

When he finally pushes into Leia, he finds her so hot and tight and ready for him that he lets out a moan. “I like that sound,” Han’s voice is a rumble in his ear, as his strong hands stroke over Cassian’s hips. The positions of the calluses, from blasters, from piloting are so familiar to Cassian, but Han’s grip is so much firmer, so much more like his dreams. “I think I’d like to hear it again.”

Oh. Yes. Han’s voice is enough to remind him of what other pleasures are coming, and he shivers. Leia laughs, a little breathless herself, and tugs on his hip. “Feel good?”

“Very,” he thrusts forward again, slow, gentle, feeling her take him so well, her walls tight around his aching cock. She moans, pushing herself forward, taking as much of him as she can. It’s incredible, to feel her rock against him, to be used for her pleasure as much as his own.

Cassian pauses, deep inside Leia. Waiting for Han to get to work before he starts to move again. Han places a finger at his rear and though it’s hard to think about anything except for pleasure, Cassian nods, relaxing as Han works him open. Glad there’s lube. A little concerned at how well-planned this seems to be. He manages to gasp something out about that. Han chuckles, and it’s Leia who whispers, “We’ve only been waiting for three sets of days off, you dork.”

They were waiting… for him? They wanted to spend their day off with _him?_

The idea is incredible, no matter how many times he thinks of it, almost as incredible as the work Han is doing to him. When the pressure increases, Cassian’s breath stutters.

Leia kisses his gasping mouth. “It’s all right. Is he too much?”

“Not… not at all.” Cassian whispers, because he doesn’t have the breath for anything else. Damn Solo. Damn him and his apparently very clever fingers. “Just… want to… last.”

“Leia,” Han barks, and it’s a command that makes a fire flare in her eyes. It’s enough of a command that Cassian shivers, too, his hips stuttering a little, making short hard thrusts into her.

Her hand goes down to where she and Cassian are joined, and she wraps around his base. “I’ll hold you right here,” she kisses his shoulder, “wouldn’t want you to miss out, right?”

It’s such a strangely tender little gesture. So much of this afternoon has been like that. So full of love and softness, things he’d never thought he’d find, least of all with them.

But it makes sense, he thinks. That he, whose whole life has been lived in the shadows, fits so well in between the sun and her planet ensnared in orbit. He’s their eclipse, the space between them, the moment shared by day and night.

He’s theirs.

And it thrills him to be so.

Because what’s always scared him about relationships is leaving someone alone, when a mission pulls him away.

“I…” he swallows. “I want this. Again. Tomorrow, or tonight or… again.”

“Really?” Han laughs, his breath so warm against Cassian’s neck. “Fun hasn’t even started, buddy.”

“Solo, if your cock is smaller than your finger, we’ve got a much bigger problem.”

* * *

 

There’s a growl behind him, and Han nips his neck. Cassian’s own’s hand presses harder against Leia’s back. If it wasn’t for the pressure at his base, Leia holding back his release, he knows he could come in that moment.

Instead, all he can to is rest his head on Leia’s shoulder as Han slowly eases into him. Cassian whispers words, not insults but blessings to both of them, to this day, to this feeling, falling back into Festian without realizing it. Leia soothes him, her palm so soft against his shaking shoulders. Even Han is gentle in this moment, coaxing Cassian with words and little squeezes of his hand on Cassian’s thigh.

Until suddenly, Han has him filled, has him so deep that every breath is joyful agony. Only then does Cassian let himself push forward again, push deeper into Leia, though he still keeps his head anchored on her shoulder.

Han fucks him hard, and fast, but really, he expected nothing else. While he does, Cassian clings to Leia, rutting inside her desperately, his nails pressing into soft skin, his mouth leaving hungry kisses all over anywhere he can reach. In return, Leia strokes his jawline, his neck. Her fingertips are so light and gentle, even over his stubble, a softness of touch he’s still not use to, though after these moments of sheer bliss, one that he knows he’ll crave for a lifetime after. While he thrusts, Leia tells him he’s good, so good, that he’s going to make her come again. “Pl-please,” he whispers in return. Desperate for her pleasure even more than his own.

She kisses him, long and slow. Ignoring, or maybe just enjoying in her own serene way, the double effect of two men, one fucking the one taking her. Her hand finds Cassian’s, and guides it to her breast. When he starts to work her there, her hips start to rock, harder, and harder. Until it’s Han’s hand reaching over, pulling Leia closer to them both, holding her in place.

“Let go, baby.” Han growls. “I know you can.”

Cassian adds to the begging with his kisses. Finally, Leia lets out one last ragged cry, breaking around him as her orgasm hits. It’s all Cassian can do to hold on to the edges of reality as she shakes beside him, her core squeezing him tighter with waves of her pleasure. Her back arches.

Cassian breaths out a curse that sounds like a prayer. He’s never seen anything so beautiful, nor felt anything as dirty as how Han is now fucking him, each thrust making him gasp. Han’s got to be so close. Has to be. Because if Cassian has to take anymore without his own release, he’s going to simply dissolve into particles of light and pleasure and peace.

So, he goes for the thing that seems to motivate Han more than anything else. Words.

“You fuck as bad as you fly,” Cassian grits out. He’s rewarded first by Leia’s soft chuckle, and that threatens to make him lose his composure too. Damn them both. Damn them for being so generous, so warm, so delightful, because holding out is such sweet agony. BUt they had a deal, and he won’t break it. No matter how much he aches, how each thrust, burying deep into Leia, strains to be the final one. No matter how many times he feels Han pound right into that brilliant spot, deep inside Cassian, making his whole body buck with the pleasure of it all.

So he closes his eyes, forcing himself to keep the same slow rhythm he’s given her, as the insult lands… and Han slaps his ass.

The bright stinging pain is still leaving delightful ripples across Cassian’s skin as Han comes inside him. Han’s pleasure is wet and hot and sudden. A moment later, Han pulls out, and there’s the sound of him rolling onto his back, based on the way the bed creaks and Han groans.

“Nicely played,” Leia teases.

Cassian has no brain space left for witty replies. Every bit of him is sore and aching and so wonderfully warm right now. He pulls out of Leia for a moment. He’s close, so close. But… he can’t help thinking of Han drinking the caf that cold morning.

Cassian knows what he wants. His fingers wrap around his throbbing base, holding him at his edge.

“Suck me off,” he tells Han, as he kneels over him, his throbbing cock in his hand like the prize these two treat it as. Cassian’s never found himself desirable, or good, not until today. Not until now. “I think I’ve got your favorite flavor.”

Leia laughs again, as bright as sunlight, and kisses Han swiftly. “Go on,” she tells him. “I’ll help.”

There’s a shifting of positions that takes far, far too long for him, but right now, every second is agony. He’s the closest he’s been to coming in months, and currently, with the cold air on his bare skin, far too far from release.

Until Han’s damn mouth wraps around his cock.

Then, he throws back his head in a silent cry of delight. There’s nothing else to think, no concerns at all, beyond the heat and rush of whatever incredible tricks the smuggler is currently doing with his tongue.

Or so Cassian thinks.

And then, Leia starts licking his balls, and Cassian knows that Hoth is now a planet beyond compare when it comes to pleasure. His fingers twist in Han’s hair, pulling him closer, enjoying the way the man turns so compliant with a cock in his mouth. Cassian had no idea of it, never would have guessed at all the tricks the man knows. “Turns out you look much hotter with your mouth full,” he tells Han, running a shaking hand through Han’s hopelessly tousled hair. Han, because he’s incorrigible, because he’s Han, just winks at him.

Meanwhile, Leia hums happily with her own task, her tongue running over Cassian’s most tender skin. Cassian shuts his eyes, but not before he sees Han’s hand reach over to rub Leia’s breast. Grips it harder than Cassian would have thought she liked, but the noise she just made around Cassian’s balls indicates the opposite.

Well. He can help too. His hand, the one not currently pinning Han in place, finds Leia’s core with only a little effort, and her clit with no effort at all. It’s so swollen and sensitive with need that just one brush of his fingers has her gasping.

The men work her together, while Cassian fucks Han’s mouth. He knows Leia has come again, but she doesn’t let his hand go, traps it between her thighs, so he keeps working her. She whimpers, grinding harder on his palm, as if desperate to wring out every last bit of pleasure.

Cassian knows the feeling.

Until, finally, finally, he cries out. His bliss is sharp and sudden, so long-expected and still such a surprise. He sees a delightful image of Han licking his messy lips before he tumbles back on the bed, his eyes sliding shut. The two lovers kiss, soft and deep, and then, they find Cassian, twining around him. Everyone’s body is flushed with heat, soft from sated desire.

What’s that other thing he’s supposed to do on a day off?

Ah. Right.

Rest.

And somehow, it’s so much easier to rest trapped between two generous, warm, lovers. He sighs, more content, more warm, than any cup of caf has ever made him.

Someone pulls the blanket up. Arms tangle, and feet brush, and someone mutters that Leia has far to much hair, Leia retorts that she's not the one with scratchy facial hair, which melts into another round of soft kisses and busy hands while dirty little jokes are exchanged, and then… they sleep.

In the space between today and tomorrow, the lovers have found peace, at least, for a little while.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are welcome!  
> also many thanks to my brave betas who encouraged, edited, and helped me tag-wrangle :)


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